by J. P. Bowie
Emily took his hand in hers as he spoke, and Olivia had to fight hard to not let her smile of sympathy turn to one of triumph as she imagined the public’s reaction to this scene. This pretty girl and her handsome brother, holding hands, their eyes glistening with tears of sadness for the lost love of their mother—oh, they would eat it up. Her show’s ratings would climb as never before. This was a slam-dunk!
“Okay,” Grant was saying, “Let’s take a break, people.” He beamed at Olivia.
“That was great.”
“A break?” Peter asked, puzzled. “But we haven’t done anything yet.”
“Oh yes, we have,” Jeff told him. “We’ve been ‘on’ for the last twenty minutes.”
“You’re kidding…Olivia?”
“Jeff ’s the sleuth all right,” Olivia laughed. “I wanted y’all to be as relaxed as possible, so we’ve been rolling since we sat down. Don’t worry,” she added as he frowned. “It’ll be great.” She rose and walked over to where Luke stood waiting for her to give him some attention.
“Well, what do you make of that?” Peter gasped.
“Sneaky,” Jeff chuckled. “But effective. You have to admit no one appeared to be nervous or tongue-tied.”
“You mean the cameras were on the whole time?” Emily asked.
“Uh huh.” Jeff smiled at her and Anthony. “And you were both terrific. Very real.”
“Yes, you were,” Eve agreed. “I only hope your mother sees this show and realizes how wrong she’s been. It may very well be the encouragement she needs to get in touch again.”
“Somehow, I doubt that,” Emily said. “What d’you think, Anthony?”
“Well, she’ll at least hear we still love her…”
“No, she’ll hear that you love her, Anthony. I could never go that far, after all that’s happened.”
“I know, Sis. Still, I keep hoping that one day a miracle will occur and she will make amends.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” Emily said, standing up. “I know I won’t.”
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Peter stood for a moment by himself, as everyone returned to their places.
He looked over to where Olivia and Luke were engaged in a display of affection that would have better suited in more private surroundings. Watching them, Peter felt a slight shiver ripple down his back. A feeling of nausea enveloped him as he turned away, heading for the door and some fresh air.
He hated when this happened. He knew it was a presentiment of danger—but once more, he could not be certain for whom. He breathed a little more easily as the sick feeling passed. Not so bad this time, he thought. Maybe just too much going on, he tried to convince himself. Giving himself a shake, he walked back into the house.
The rest of the interview went smoothly, despite the fact that now everyone was aware of the cameras being on them. Jeff found himself admiring the skillful way Olivia managed to draw out an answer to even the most loaded question. In spite of his own prejudices, he had to admit Olivia Winters did her job very well indeed.
Later, as the camera technicians started to pack up their equipment, Olivia cornered him. “Brenda tells me you still haven’t given her an answer about taking on this situation with the threatening letters,” she said, getting straight to the point. “I really could use your help.”
Jeff wondered how sincere was her tone of entreaty. “I’ve talked to a friend of mine with the LAPD,” he told her. “They don’t have a lot to go on so far.
Have you had anymore threats since you outed the letter writer?”
“No, but that only aired yesterday. I expect there will be some repercus-sions.” Her eyes scanned his face, trying to read his reaction. “So, you’ll help me?”
He nodded. “Yes, Olivia. Nick and I took a good look at the letters Brenda faxed us. Seems to be the work of at least two people. The letters are similar in tone, but some are definitely the work of a more educated person than the others—and probably a woman.”
“A woman?” Olivia reacted with surprise. “A woman. It never occurred to me that a woman would write that stuff.” She managed a small smile. “Shows how naive I can be. I had it figured to be some right-wing loon—you know, like a preacher or somebody involved with those family values coalitions.”
“You could be right,” Jeff agreed. “But there are a lot of women involved in those too. It isn’t a male prerogative to be a bigot.”
“True…but would a woman actually carry out the threats? It’s one thing to sit at home and write a poison pen letter, and quite another to physically attack J.P. Bowie
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the person you’re writing to. Besides,” she added, as if trying to convince herself, “She isn’t really threatening me with bodily harm. More like hell-fire and eternal damnation.” She laughed as she continued. “I mean, c’mon—who believes in that shit anyway?”
Her question must have been intended to be rhetorical, as she did not wait for Jeff to answer. Instead she beckoned Brenda over. “Jeff ’s just accepted the job of finding this lunatic who keeps sending those dumb letters. Give him everything he needs.” With that, she turned and strode off toward where Luke stood waiting.
Brenda shook her head as she watched them walk to a far corner of the room. “She’s just not taking this serious enough,” she said. “It’s going to take something really awful to happen, before she sees this is not just some nut-case playing games.”
“I think there are two nut-cases involved,” Jeff told her. “The letters seem to have been written by two distinctly different mind-sets,” he continued as Brenda’s face registered surprise. “One wants God to punish her—the other wants to do it him or herself.”
Brenda groaned. “Oh, Jesus. So what else do you know?”
“That’s it for now. I’ve asked my friend Joe—he’s with the LAPD—to fill me in on anything he hears from forensics or handwriting specialists. These cases are never easy in the beginning. Most times we have to wait for the perp to make a mistake.”
“Great,” Brenda moaned. “Well, if I can be of any help, let me know.”
“Just keep me informed,” Jeff said. “Let me know what fallout you have from yesterday’s show. If any more letters arrive, let me have copies.”
“You got it.” Brenda turned to leave, then paused. “Hey, you and I got off to a bad start. I’m sorry about that. I’ve just been worried as hell about all this.
Olivia’s not the easiest person in the world to deal with. She’s stubborn, hard-headed…but, it’s my job to make sure she’s looked after, you know…so, I hope you understand if I come off a bit like a bitch sometimes.”
Jeff found himself admiring the woman’s honesty. “That’s OK, Brenda. I figured your job to be pretty stressful. You really don’t need all this added aggra-vation.”
“Ain’t that the truth? Okay Jeff, thanks. I’ll be in touch. Caio.”
Jeff watched as Olivia made her goodbyes to everyone. He breathed a sigh of relief as she and her entourage departed. Thank God she hadn’t suggested they all go out for dinner or drinks, he thought. He’d had quite enough of Olivia J.P. Bowie
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and her gang to last him a lifetime. He smiled as Emily and Anthony approached him.
“Jeff,” Anthony said. “I just asked Peter if you’d both like to come up for dinner a week from this Saturday. Justin and I would love for you to see our new home. Emily and Jerry will be there too.”
“Thanks, Anthony. What’d my ‘better half ’ say?”
“‘Yes, but you’d better ask Jeff.’”
“He knows to defer to me in all things, of course,” Jeff said, laughing.
“Sounds great Anthony. We’ll look forward to it.”
“Terrific,” Anthony said with enthusiasm. “And don’t worry, Justin’s a really good cook. Not like me…I can’t even fry an egg.”
“Time you learned,” his sister kidded him.
Anthony grinned at her. “Well, I pull my weight�
��and keep him happy in other ways, you know.”
“Too much information,” Emily laughed. “Okay, we’d better get out of here.
These guys have put up with enough commotion for one day.”
“Right.” Anthony gave Jeff a hug. “See you next Saturday.”
“You bet. Tell Justin ‘hi’.”
“Will do. Hey Peter, we’re leaving…”
“Okay guys.” Peter rushed over to hug them both goodbye. Eve walked them to the door, while Peter and Jeff began straightening the room.
“Did she say when this epic would air?” Jeff asked.
“Yeah…next Tuesday, unless there are editing problems. But they seemed pretty happy with everything.”
“They should be. Those kids were great. I can’t imagine anyone not being totally moved by their stories. Even though I knew all about it, I felt myself getting choked up listening to them both. Hell…how could old man Hastings have been that evil?”
“It is unbelievable, isn’t it? Thank God they’ve come through it all so well.
They both seem to be very happy these days.”
“Long may it last…” Jeff smiled at Eve as she came into the room. “We were just saying how well Emily and Anthony did today.”
“Didn’t they? But I think Anthony’s very concerned about what his mother will think if she sees the show.”
“The old bat should call him and beg his forgiveness, if you ask me,” Peter said, helping Jeff push the couch back into its former position. “As if he hadn’t suffered enough, she has to try and spoil his happiness with Justin, out of sheer spite.”
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“She must be a very unhappy person herself,” Eve remarked.
“A very vindictive person,” Peter said. “If she’s unhappy, she only has herself to blame.”
“Can’t argue with that,” Jeff grunted, pulling the sofa into place by himself.
“Well, I can’t help but feel sorry for her,” Eve sighed, watching him.
“That’s because you’re a very sweet woman,” Jeff said.
“Unlike Patricia Hastings,” Peter added. “Well, I don’t know about you two, but I need a drink after all that.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Jeff threw himself down on the couch. “Bring on the libations, young man—and be quick about it!” He beckoned to Eve. “Come sit here, you sweet woman you, while we are waited upon by yonder lackey.”
“Excuse me?” Peter affected indignation as Eve sat down beside Jeff. “Does talent count for naught around here? I’m the one who should be waited upon, hand and foot.”
“Right!” Jeff scoffed. “Away with you, before I have to inflict dire punishment upon your person.”
“Jeff, please…Not in front of my mother…”
“Oh, you two, stop it,” Eve laughed, glad of the change in mood. “Just bring the drinks Peter…and be quick about it.”
“Well!” Peter flounced from the room. “There’s gratitude for you.”
It was later, while he and Jeff were climbing into bed, that Peter remembered his momentary sick spell earlier in the day, while the show was being taped. As he lay in Jeff ’s arms, he wondered if he should mention it.
“Yes,” Jeff murmured.
“Yes, what?” Peter asked, startled.
“Yes, tell me what’s on your mind.”
“What are you—a mind-reader now?”
“When it comes to you, yes, I am. When you go quiet like that, I know something’s up.” Jeff pulled him closer.
Peter smiled and ran his lips over Jeff ’s left nipple. “Okay, what am I thinking now?”
“Mmm, let me see…Tut, you should be ashamed of yourself young man,”
Jeff chuckled. “So tell me what’s on your mind…”
“Oh, I had one of those damned premonitions earlier…”
“What?” Jeff sat up and looked at him with concern. “Why didn’t you tell me about it sooner?”
“I kind of forgot about it with all that was going on.”
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“So who’s in trouble?”
“Y’know—you’re a lot surer of these things than I am,” Peter said, sighing.
“As usual it was just a feeling of something not quite right. A shivery, sick feeling.”
“I’m sorry,” Jeff said, stroking Peter’s hair gently. “Sorry you have to put up with this sort of thing.”
Peter tried to smile. “Some people call it a gift. I call it a giant pain.”
Jeff nodded. “So who was it?”
“Either Olivia or Luke, or someone standing close by, but I don’t know who that was.”
“Jeez,” Jeff muttered, lying down again and pulling Peter back into his arms.
He lay, silently thinking for a moment or two. “These threats she’s been getting…Maybe it’s time to take them more seriously. When you start getting those feelings, alarms bells start ringing in my head…”
“Maybe it’s time for Olivia to take them more seriously too,” Peter said
“I think you’re right. I’ll call Joe in the morning and see if he’s got anything new.”
“Good idea.” Peter nuzzled Jeff ’s chest. “I had another good idea…but I think I’m too sleepy…”
“Here’s a novel idea,” Jeff teased him. “Seeing we’re in bed—let’s go to sleep.”
“If you insist…”
“Say Goodnight, Peter.”
“Goodnight, Peter.”
c h a p t e r 8
s
If I was angry and perturbed before by Miss Winter’s obvious perverse delight in ignoring the requests of her viewing public, I am now beyond furious!
This latest broadcast in which she paraded my own children in front of the whole country was nothing short of scandalous. That slut of a girl, who calls herself my daughter, trying so hard to look demure and innocent as she poured forth her litany of lies. It was more than I could bear. And my own son, Anthony—how could he have agreed to share in her deceit?
I thought my heart would shatter into tiny pieces as I listened to him trying to place the blame for his shameful way of life on his father and myself. Blaming me for ignoring the lies his sisters told him about their so-called abuse at the hands of their father. All of these terrible, untrue accusations now made public knowledge—how shall I ever live down this shame?
And those preening homosexuals, pretending to be so concerned about the welfare of abused children. Do they think for one moment we are fooled by their superficial charm? It is the likes of them that are at the root of the problem. Surely, everyone knows that. Can I be the only one who is not duped by them? And that woman—the artist’s mother…sitting there looking so proud of her boy. She must be as depraved as the rest of them. Well, I have taken steps to burst her little balloon of self-aggrandizement. Oh yes, she will certainly be most upset when she reads what I, and all decent Christian people, think of her and her boastful pride.
As for the purveyor of all this sleaze—Miss Winters—I have written to tell her of God’s judgment and how she will be afflicted. I have galvanized my allies into action and when Miss Winters feels the strength of our outrage, she will be forced to capitulate and humbly beg our forgiveness. She will be forced to retract every
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inflammatory statement and apologize for all these grotesque episodes and promise to never again have that type of person on her show. Nothing less will suffice.
The Reverend Jack Fellows smiled smugly as he looked at the sizeable check he held in his chubby fingers. That woman had certainly become a huge asset to his church in the last few weeks. True, she was extremely demanding; insist-ing on his declaiming against the content of the Olivia Winters Hour on his every television appearance, but if she kept sending this kind of donation, he was happy to oblige her. After all, it was the kind of fire and brimstone speech he was famous for, and what his followers wanted to h
ear.
He had made a name for himself, and a deal of money into the bargain, with his fiery condemnation of homosexuality, child molestation, pornography and drug abuse. According to Fellows, all of these sins went hand-in-hand.
Homosexuals were depraved child abusers who indulged in the vices of adult and child pornography while shooting up with all manner of drugs. He had become something of a must-watch guest on many talk shows. He would sit, his immense bulk filling every inch of his chair, his multiple chins wobbling as he shook his head with vehemence at every argument the talk show host would put to him.
No matter how many statistics they would throw at him to prove him wrong in his allegations, he would simply sit, smile, shake his head and utter his now famous Jack Fellows axiom: “The Lord knows I am right—and I am right with the Lord!” Oh, how his fans would whoop and applaud each time they heard those words—so clever of him to have come up with them.
He looked up as his wife appeared in the doorway. Christ, he thought with distaste, she looks like she’s been embalmed too early. Christina Fellows, approaching sixty, but dressed as someone much younger in what she liked to term her coquettish sense of fashion, frowned at him as she approached his desk, wobbling unsteadily on her high heels.
“Been at the bottle already?” he snapped at her. “We’ve got that Hastings woman coming round here at two this afternoon. She’s not gonna want to see you in your cups!”
“Fuck her,” his wife mumbled, slumping into a seat opposite him. “She doesn’t have to see me at all. She’s coming over here to rant about that goddam Olivia Winters again. That’s all she thinks about—she’s nuts if you ask me.”
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“She’s also immensely rich,” Jack said, waving the check he still held in front of his wife’s face. Christina smoothed the frilly ruffles of her blouse and belched loudly. Jack closed his eyes in distaste and sighed. What on earth was he going to do with her? he thought. She was becoming more and more of a liability. He opened his eyes and wished he hadn’t. His wife stared back at him, a bleary look of boredom on her overly rouged face. Her hair, dyed to an unbelievable shade of Lucille Ball red had been teased and tortured to an attempt at fullness he could see straight through. Her eyebrows had been plucked to oblivion and painted over to match her hair color. Her eyelids were wrinkled and puckered under the blue eye shadow that had been applied it seemed, with a trowel. Her mouth was a red gash. She looks like a clown, he thought—a bloated, drunken clown. She was the object of derision every time anything was ever written or said about her. She was his Achilles heel; there was no doubt of that. The press had dubbed her ‘Fellows’ Folly’.
